An incredibly prolific writer of my time, second to the Zulu Warrior, Ndumiso Ngcobo, E.D Dube once pointed out that no matter how rough one’s day may have been, a listen of good music puts it all behind them. That said, I should point out that I have had a rather rough week that depending on your discernment may have either sadly or contentedly and deservedly culminated into a weekend of binging and endless unsuccessful solicits of my female friends’ company for purposes non-related to phalluses and their extramural activities, which it did. At the end of this particular weekend however, I discovered through rather heated whatsapp messages that the said female friends had developed ideas about my intentions in having established relations with them in the first place.
Although this may have been the case at the inception of these friendships, I have grown rather platonically fond of them and thus appreciate their company and everything that comes with it in the direction of using them to supplement my charm in magnetizing the well bosomed and luscious creatures to ever tread this earth when we make appearances at waterholes and shisanyamas for a taste of the good life. Now, I’m a lover. The kind that Bob Marley sings about in his enchanting music, the kind that the bandana wearing and colour blocking, non-shaving and cannabis prone generation of the sixties so encouraged. I’m a man of notes, a man of music, the true “opium of the masses”. I love music to the core. I am however in this regard fitted with a handicap, and proudly so. While lyrical music, the predominant reason why hot, steamy, salty sex even transpires continues to leave many in questionably cavernous and moisturised states post intercourse, my senses are left dry and limp and unaffected.
This is an area where music fails me. I am lyric deaf. Music lovers across the globe walk around in a daze, lost in thought because of persons put on this earth for the sole reason of flawlessly and unreservedly articulating emotions. Music listeners dive into stupors and even learn lyrics themselves for purposes of singing their lungs out loud in bids to share with the whole world what it is they are feeling. Like I said, I however, am left unaffected by these.
As I write this piece, I am happily in a state of altered consciousness induced by the combo of instruments that form what Prince, the god of guitarists titled ‘Purple Rain’. Of course at this point I have rendered myself a mentally beheaded music lover by virtue of declaring Prince the god of guitarists above Hendrix and Clapton. While I respect both Clapton and Hendrix as musicians, they do not seem to bring to the party the sex appeal and tremendous passion with which Prince oozes on stage. Attentively scanning through his archaic music video of the song, I find myself lost in time and in awe of the skill and passion the man oozes as he strums on his custom made guitar.
I instinctively relive my best four climaxes ever to which I had been accused of lasting anything but the five minutes I remember outlasting. Goes to show, you are never big enough and you never last long enough either, however hard you try. At the risk of often being labeled a pessimist that I’m not, I have often offered unsolicited suggestions to comrades of mine for this cause, not to waste their hard earned pennies taking in Bab’ Makhathini’s potions to boost this and that and length or girth there and there to which in the end, while they lie there smirk faced thinking they’d equaled the likes of Zeus’ in performance, their partner meanwhile embraces the foetal position just so she curbs herself from killing the untimely climaxing bastard. Instrumental music has this effect on me.
As I go to bed on this night, I mentally port myself to a time when Sipho Gumede made hips sway with his cultured strums of the electric. His ‘When Days Are Dark’ sums up my weekend as I ogle a defeated bottle of red lying next to the sink, wondering how I am ever going to rid myself of this seemingly eternal hangover.
Disclaimer: All articles and letters published on MyNews24 have been independently written by members of News24's community. The views of users published on News24 are therefore their own and do not necessarily represent the views of News24. News24 editors also reserve the right to edit or delete any and all comments received.